Linguistics
by shelle-ma-belle
Summary: Whilst Merlin has been awaiting Arthur's return, he has been forced to endure Morgana's company. Although, it hasn't turned out to be as much of a chore as he thought it would be. England seems fine though, so why has Arthur returned? What could possibly be more dire than the World Wars? Mild Mergana, rated T to be safe. I don't own Merlin.
1. Chapter 1

Merlin stretched idly in bed glancing out at the stunning view afforded by the hotel window. Even after all these years, he still awoke at dawn. Still watching the skyline lazily he had to admit that Morgana was right, the Bahamas was an _excellent_ idea, exactly what they'd needed. Speaking of which, where was that enchantress? It looked as though she'd gotten up before him. The lady was up and about before the servant, how times have changed.

Somehow, when the triple goddess had handed down his punishment, he didn't think she'd quite envisioned his and Morgana's fifteen-hundred year love affair. He'd already known when Arthur died that he was immortal. After all, it had been hard to miss the signs that he wasn't aging. Naturally he'd hidden it from everyone, Gaius included. All it took was a simple spell to make it _look_ like he was aging.

Of course a spell like that took an awful lot of energy, it was powerful magic. Even more so than the spell he'd used so many times to become Dragoon. That was because when he was pretending to be his eighty-year old self he'd only had to maintain that one age. But the spell that gave him the appearance of mortality was so much harder because it was designed to make infinitesimal changes to his appearance by the hour. The fatigue it caused him was the sole reason for the clumsiness that Arthur had complained about daily, sometimes several times a day.

Alright, if he were honest, it wasn't the only reason. The other reason was that he had been (and still was he supposed) forced to keep a tight rein on his magic so it didn't slip out and cause him to do things unintentionally (like freezing Gaius' bucket of water in mid-air). Forcing his magic in like that was like scorning one of his five senses. He could liken it to stuffing his ears full of cotton-wool so that he couldn't hear anything, or walking around with his eyes closed. Really, who could blame him for succumbing to clumsiness with handicaps such as those?

In retrospect, Merlin was quite proud of the fact that he'd managed to keep his immortality a secret from Gaius, right up until his former guardian heard about the incident with the Dorocha. There was no hiding it then, as Gaius had so plainly stated to Arthur, no mortal man could survive such an attack. Leave it to Arthur to conveniently forget that fact the moment Merlin jumped in front of one of those things. Merlin shivered despite the warmth of the bed he currently lay in. He'd never felt so cold before nor since his brush with the Dorocha.

Needless to say, when Gaius eventually heard about the incident he'd been adamant about wanting to know how he'd survived. He'd initially tried to pass it off as something to thank the water spirits for, but Gaius had simply raised his eyebrow and snottily said that he wasn't asking about the _cure_ he was demanding an explanation as to how Merlin had circumvented dying the very moment he was touched. So Merlin of course had changed tactics and spouted some nonsense about his magic protecting him. Unfortunately Gaius, being Gaius, was as usual far from gullible and simply raised his eyebrow and parroted the words that Lancelot had spoken so long ago "having magic doesn't make you immortal".

Well, what on earth was he supposed to say to _that_? He did the only thing he could have done. He'd told Gaius that he'd hit the nail on the head and for the first time since casting it dropped the aging spell that had protected his greatest secret for all these years. All of a sudden, Gaius was face to face with the exact likeness of the boy that had saved his life the very first time he'd walked into the physician's chambers. From that day forward, it became a secret that Gaius took to his grave.

So when the Disir showed up at the lake of Avalon to tell him that as punishment for allowing destiny to go awry he was to walk this earth forevermore, he was somewhat confused, because, _well really_, it wasn't exactly _news_. But that was the moment he'd realised those old hags weren't finished. _Apparently_ the triple goddess had seen fit to make his life miserable by cursing his worst enemy to endure immortality as well. For that is what immortality truly is, a curse. He'd hated watching everyone he cared about making their final journey to the place he could never follow. He didn't age. He never got sick and fatal injuries never kept him out of action for more than a week.

For the first five hundred years after the battle of Camlann reached its bloody end, he and Morgana had had as little to do with each other as possible. Once Morgana realised that he had every intention of standing in her way, _forever_, she gave up her quest for world domination. At least, Merlin figured if she'd known at the time what world domination _was_, that would most definitely have been her goal. As it was, she simply had her sights set on taking control of a kingdom, any kingdom. Beggars couldn't be choosers after all.

On the rare occasions that they crossed paths during those first five hundred years, Morgana made no secret of the fact that she held him fully responsible for her immortality. It was hardly fair. _Yes_ he was partially responsible given that he should never have cured her after she fell down those stairs. But if she could have just taken one moment to look, _really look_, at Arthur's true convictions she might have seen what he did. That if you took away all the magical attacks, took away all the incidents that seemingly proved Uther right, convincing Arthur of all the good there was in magic and fulfilling destiny would have been the easiest thing in the world. She of all people could have changed Arthur's mind.

Then came the night; roughly five hundred years after Arthur's death that one of their arguments took a _very_ different turn. To this day Merlin couldn't say _what_ had happened or even _how_ it had happened. He supposed that the youth of today would call it hate-sex or perhaps centuries of supressed and denied feelings. Whatever that night was, for better or worse, he had deflowered the King's ward roughly five centuries after Uther's death. Whoops.

Something changed that night. Morgana finally seemed to let go, to forgive him and from that day to this, they had been inseparable. If he had to use one word to describe their relationship for the next seven centuries, he supposed it would have to be passionate or perhaps steamy. These days they were more like an old married couple, the very best of friends, two old souls who took comfort in each other's presence and knew each other intimately. They were two people, who loved each other unconditionally despite or perhaps _because_ of their faults.

He laughed quietly. Who was he kidding? _Like_ a married couple? By the very definition of the term, they _were_ an old married couple. In fact they were, without question, the _oldest_ married couple in existence. After that first night, he'd felt honour bound to marry her. She had acceded to this desire of his without protest. Although, in retrospect, whom else was she to marry? Given her immortality, it was either marry him or become an old maid, unless of course, she happened to have a fetish for changing husbands every fifty years or so. Given Morgana's history, that probably wasn't as far-fetched as it sounded.

He was shaken from his reverie by Morgana's laughter. He had never heard her laugh so hard! In fact he'd never heard _anyone_ laugh so hard. Had it been anyone else, he would have feared that their cause of death would read 'died of laughter'. Merlin was nothing if not curious and immediately leapt out of bed and dashed to the penthouse's living room (yes, they holidayed in style). What could he say, he was married to Morgana!

Besides, it wasn't like they couldn't afford it. They'd set about building their wealth from the moment they'd been married. In fact, Merlin was willing to bet that his net worth would have to be at least ten times what had been in the vaults of Camelot and that was factoring in what that treasure trove would be worth today if you were to consider the effect of inflation. He and Morgana had taken it upon themselves to invest in every initial public offering that had _ever_ been floated on absolutely _every_ stock exchange. Investment had become a game to them. He defied _anyone_ to show him a more diversified portfolio. Hell, he even owned land in more than fifty countries! That was something he still even after all these years could not get used to. Owning land; in his time that was a privilege that belonged only to kings. Nowadays anyone who had the money was permitted to own their own home. Inconceivable! Although, he was more than happy to take advantage of it.

The moment Merlin understood what the joke was; he was laughing every bit as hard as Morgana. Really, it was too good. Morgana was sat in front of the giant flat screen watching CNN. And what were the top headlines currently being reported?

A young blonde reporter broadcasting 'live from the scene' who had a superiority complex _so bad_ she must have had an entire _quarterstaff_ shoved up her ass was saying that a 'blonde jock' had been discovered on the shores of the lake of Glastonbury dressed in complete medieval 'getup' that included an 'actual sword' and was shouting at bystanders in 'complete gibberish' whilst brandishing his 'crude weapon'. Police were on hand but were reluctant to do anything seeing as (according to the reporter anyway) the 'jock' had 'more bark than bite' and the coppers did not want to face the bad press that would likely accompany the 'potential apparent mistreatment of someone who so clearly had a severely debilitating mental illness'.

The mental picture of poor Arthur's reaction, were he to receive a full translation of what these people were saying left both Morgana and Merlin gasping for air. For that was exactly who this 'blonde jock' was, it had been more than one and a half millennia and yet, Merlin would recognise that face anywhere.

The news program had now switched live to a language expert from Cambridge who was saying that what appeared to be 'gibberish' was in fact more aptly described as a dead language. Or rather, it was an incredibly ancient version of the modern day English language. According to the expert, given time (for example one and a half millennia, Merlin snidely) languages evolve so far that they eventually become unrecognisable when compared to what they had once looked and sounded like. He made the point that there was a time when everyone spoke like Shakespeare. Merlin and Morgana simply stared at each other for a moment before bursting into yet another laughing fit. They had both known Shakespeare well and he could say with certainty that nobody had _ever _spoken quite like Shakespeare. The man's concept of the English language had been a law beholden unto itself.

Merlin continued watching having now decided not to take anything this expert said seriously as that Shakespeare comment had clearly rendered his entire argument invalid. This expert had gone on to say that whilst there was no one left alive who was fluent in this dialect – "Wrong again!" he and Morgana chorused – his limited understanding of these ancient dialects lead him to believe that this man was asking for the whereabouts of someone named Myrddin. "Point to the expert" Morgana conceded.

He and Morgana had made a point of spending at least two days each week speaking and writing the King's English as it had been during the time of King Arthur's reign, just in case something like this happened. If (**_WHEN_**, Merlin mentally corrected, he had at times, over the centuries, come to doubt Kilgarrah's predictions) Arthur returned and quite understandably couldn't speak the modern dialect, well, someone needed to know how to talk to him in _his_ dialect.

Once CNN had finished interviewing the language expert, they began to discuss which of the surrounding asylums poor Arthur might have escaped from. "I believe you'll find it under the water." Merlin deadpanned. This incredibly witty remark sparked another round of laughter from Morgana.

Once she'd recovered Merlin switched of the TV and grinning impishly said "I guess it's a good thing I know how to teleport, I'm not sure the Police will be prepared to tolerate your brother for too much longer."

"Please tell me you're not cutting our holiday short!" Morgana whined. "Besides, he's only my half-brother! Surely he can wait, we have _plans_!"

"Nothing that can't wait until Arthur is settled, darling. Look at it this way; at least we don't have to forge any new documents we've only just started using our current aliases."

"You are aware, _Mr Emmerson_, that this particular holiday was scheduled to celebrate the start of lifetime number twenty-one?"

"You have my most heartfelt apologies _Mrs Emmerson_, but as you know, anything that has been scheduled _can_ be rescheduled. Regardless, you have my solemn promise that I will more than make it up to you."

"How exactly do you plan to do that?" Morgana demanded.

"Why my dear _Morgan_, in whatever way it is that pleases you most!"

"I am going to hold you to that _Martin_", Morgana warned him.

"I would expect nothing less" Merlin murmured leaning in to give her a peck on the lips.

Morgana tried to prolong the kiss but Merlin pulled back, smiling impishly at her pout.

"Later. I have things to do and prats to rescue. If _I_ teleport and _you_ travel the way a normal person does that should give Arthur enough time to adjust to the idea of you and I being on the same side. Do you think you'll be able to cancel everything on our itinerary?"

"There might be some late cancellation fees."

Merlin sighed. "Mor_gan_a, You and I are richer than everyone on the Forbes rich list combined! I think we can wear it."

"If we're so fabulously wealthy, why aren't _we _on that list?"

"Probably because we're smart enough to own everything under multiple aliases, aliases are a _great_ tax saver! They also prevent people from realising that we're major shareholders in their companies, I don't think I will ever tire of stacking AGMs with all my proxies. See you in a few days, love you!"

"Love you too" Morgana muttered.

"That was _incredibly heartfelt_!" Merlin scoffed before getting up off the sofa and teleporting directly from the penthouse to the main bedroom of their Glastonbury lake house.

* * *

**So I'm not entirely sure where this came from. All I know is that I've caught the procrastination bug bad for all things study related and am suffering from mild writer's block on my other fic. Well I know _what_ I wan't to say, it just doesn't seem to flow when I try to write it.**

**Anyway back to this fic. Do you love it? Hate it? Should I continue? Not continue? Is the title too weird?**

**I also have no idea where I'm going with this so if you have any plot lines, plot bunnies or anything else you'd like to contribute, I'm all ears. Or eyes, I guess, since I'd be reading them...**


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Merlin had recovered from the inevitable vertigo that accompanied teleportation, he went and fished an ancient-looking key from a hidden cavity in the headboard of his and Morgana's king-size bed. He snickered as he realised he'd just come up with an all new fat joke to tease Arthur with. Since Arthur was a king and the bed was 'king-sized' logic stipulated that Arthur must be the same size as that enormous bed. With a slight shake of his head he forced himself to focus, moving to kneel before a large chest situated right at the back of the walk-in wardrobe.

The chest contained magically preserved clothes from his days spent living in Camelot along with a few of the dresses and cloaks Morgana had worn prior to his vanquishing of her immortal army. There was also an array of ladies silk slippers and two pairs of his old boots. Pulling out the very same outfit that Arthur had last seen him in, he quickly got changed, wrinkling his nose at the uncomfortably scratchy texture of the shirt and breeches. He'd really grown soft over the years…

Once more reminding himself of the urgency of the situation, he dashed out to where he and Morgana stabled their horses. He'd taken note of the colouring of the horses he and Arthur had been riding the day Arthur died and, over the years, had made sure that he owned two horses of the same breed and colouring, _two black stallions._ He'd even given them the same names.

"Storm. Blaze." He stated, acknowledging each in turn. "I hope our lovely neighbour John hasn't been spoiling you two. I expect he'll get quite the shock when he discovers me back early, but we haven't the time to be worried about him."

Pausing in his prattle for dramatic effect, he flashed the horses a wide grin and exclaimed, "Arthur's back!" Merlin studied the horses' blank expressions for a moment before muttering; "Well, don't get _too_ excited."

Louder he continued, "I hope you lot don't mind wearing Camelot tack, it won't be for long and anyway, it can't possibly be worse than these accursed _breeches._"

"Alright Storm, you first." Thanks to the use of a rather excessive amount of magic, Merlin had the horses saddled in record time, complete with all of the provisions that his and Arthur's horses had been carrying in their mad dash to Avalon. It was only once he'd managed to shut and secure the gate that separated his property from the lake shore that he finally mounted Blaze. Having ensured he had a secure grip on Storm's reins Merlin urged Blaze into a gallop, leaving Storm with no choice but to follow suit.

He could tell the exact moment that the media swarm noticed his approach as they all suddenly did an about face in his direction. He supposed it would have been hard to miss, two horses, one rider, weird camping gear, no helmets and all travelling at break-neck speed down the lake shore. Morgana would be proud. She was forever harping on about how he needed to learn how to make an entrance.

It wasn't until he noticed the crisp, immaculate uniforms of the police that he realised the lack of a helmet may cause him some problems. Or did he have that confused with cycling? Ah well, he did have some practice at talking his way out of these situations.

Forced to stop some distance from Arthur due to the size of the crowd, Merlin coaxed the horses to a halt and proceeded to launch himself out of the saddle and subsequently execute a flip that would be the envy of every acrobat worldwide. Five lifetimes as a circus performer had led him to become rather adept at the sport. He landed squarely on his feet and was immediately accosted by a police officer.

"Son, are you aware that I'm perfectly within my rights to fine you for riding without a helmet? What're you doing dressed like that and with an extra horse anyway? I hope for your sake you aren't planning on initiating another disturbance of the peace! All I can say is you'd better have a damn good explanation."

Merlin took a deep breath and used that action to swallow his pride, forcing himself not to react to being called 'son' by someone who couldn't have been on this earth more than fifty years.

"I _do_. Have a good explanation, that is." Merlin said quickly flashing the innocent grin he'd often used on Arthur for added effect.

"Let's hear it then." The policeman snapped.

"Honestly in any other situation I would have worn the proper riding gear, I swear. But my wife's brother, the man dressed in the armour over there, is absolutely convinced that he's a medieval knight. My showing up here dressed in normal clothes would have scared the poor man silly! I mean, he thinks I'm his _servant_." Merlin quickly explained in a conspiratorial tone that implied he was letting the man in on a closely guarded secret.

Seeing the incredulous look on the officer's face he added, "I'm completely serious."

Blinking rapidly the officer relented. "Son, I think you're story's absolutely ridiculous, but I've got to give you points for creativity so I'm going to let you off just the once. I suggest you clear out of here before I change my mind."

"I can prove my story, just watch." Merlin insisted. "Arthur!" He shouted, although to everyone present it sounded like "Artor".

And to the policeman's utter astonishment there was a reply of "Myrridin? Bæcern þæt helle áh ágoest þú gebéonne!?

Merlin cringed and shot the policeman an apologetic smile. "You can understand him?" the officer asked, stunned.

Merlin just nodded, but the man was having none of it. "Well what did he say?"

Merlin sighed. "He said, and I quote 'Where the hell have you been!?' His words, not mine. I don't suppose you'd mind if I went…" He trailed off gesturing in the direction Arthur's voice had come from.

"By all means," the officer agreed quickly. "Hoy! Boys, let this man through, he speaks psychopath!"

Once again Merlin had to use all his years of practicing self-control to force himself into letting the policeman's derogatory comments slide. Merlin had after all just implied that Arthur was crazy even though he'd been careful not to say it outright.

"Don't suppose you'd mind holding the reins?" He asked quickly. "I promise I'll be right back."

Upon seeing the policeman's nod of confirmation, he set off down the recently cleared path through the crowd determined to give the prat a piece of his mind.

* * *

**Back by popular demand! Sorry it took me so long, I got a bit carried away reading everyone else's fics. Next chapter will be from Arthur's POV. Massive thank you to everyone who reviewed. Reviews always make my day! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Arthur became aware of after passing out in Merlin's arms was the fact that he was underwater… underwater _and_ in full armour. He was even holding his bloody sword! Painfully aware of his need to breathe he immediately unclasped his cloak, letting it sink to the lakebed and began to kick towards the surface cursing silently at his slow progress. Leave it to Merlin to forget to remove his armour before tossing him in a lake! Really, what _was_ the point of magical healing if he was doomed to drown immediately afterwards?

His snide mental commentary was cut off by the feeling of wind on his face. He'd broken the surface! He had just enough time to gulp in some air before the weight of his armour dragged him back under. Careful to maintain his grip on his sword, he once again pushed for the surface. Gulping down air, he beat his legs in a circular motion in an effort to keep his head above water just long enough to spot the nearest shoreline. Judging by the amount of daylight he had with which to discern said shoreline he realised it was shortly after dawn. Apparently he'd been in the lake for quite some time.

Once he had his bearings, he shifted the focus of his efforts towards moving in that direction. What _felt_ like a half hour later (the strain his body was under left him hesitant to trust the accuracy of his estimation), his feet hit solid ground for the first time. Thrusting his left hand into the air (his right still holding his sword), he was pleased to discover that the surface of the water was about halfway up his forearm. The realisation that he was almost out of danger lent him renewed vigour and breaking the surface to gulp down some more air he redoubled his efforts to reach the shoreline.

He was determined to succeed, not simply because his life depended on it, but also because, when he eventually ended up in the afterlife, the _last_ thing he wanted to have to tell people was that he drowned because his _armour was too heavy_. No, he would never hear the end of it. The great King Arthur brought to ruin by his armour. How's that for poetry_ Mer_lin? When the water finally grew shallow enough that he could stand on the lakebed without submerging his head, he decided to take a moment to lean on the hilt of his sword and _partake_ in a well-earned _break_. He really needed to stymie this rhyming habit before he tracked down Merlin. That idiot-servant of his was certainly not above poking fun at his king, stocks be damned.

Half an hour later (and _yes_ this time he was sure), one mightily shivering bedraggled king of legend finally reached the shore… and promptly collapsed on it. At least he still had his sword. Yes he was aware that he would have gotten out of the lake much faster without it, but he wasn't such a fool as to think, should he make it out of the lake alive, that he'd live long as an unarmed man. Not with the number of Saxons roaming these parts searching, ironically enough, for _him_. Yes, he would have to be stupider than Merlin to relinquish the sword.

It occurred to him then that he was cold, dangerously so. He had heard the same lecture from Gaius during the winter months enough times to know that he needed to get out of his armour and quickly. According to the physician "the less you're wearing the faster you get warm, and for the love of all that is holy make sure that whatever you have on isn't _wet_!" Yes, he had heard that often enough. All of Gaius' advice, however, would prove to be for naught if he couldn't get a fire started. How the hell was he supposed to do that without a flint? Why was it that whenever he needed Merlin the idiot was nowhere to be found?

Given that it wasn't winter now and the air seemed to be reasonably warm, he decided that the priority should be getting his armour off. After several minutes of unsuccessful fumbling he mentally declared his fingers too numb for the job and decided a fire would be a better idea. The armour would have to wait for Merlin. Pulling his sword out from where he'd planted it in the sand; he sheathed it before setting off in search of some firewood reasoning that he could find a way to light it later.

That was when he'd noticed the manors. At least he _thought_ that they were manors. They were certainly the right size, although he'd never seen anything like them before in his life, and what they were all doing so close together, he really couldn't begin to fathom. A feeling of dread began to build slowly in the pit of his stomach. Arthur could count on one hand the number of times he'd truly been completely and hopelessly lost. It was something he'd always been incredibly grateful for because although he'd rather die than admit it aloud, having no clue as to where he was or how to get home had always been one of his greatest fears.

Forcing himself to keep his breathing even, he began turning in a circle slowly, searching for something familiar in his surroundings. The elusive familiarity that he was searching for hit him with considerable force once he was facing the lake. This was certainly the lake of Avalon, of that he had no doubt. So why was it, that nothing surrounding the lake looked at all familiar? Lakes couldn't move! Could they? Was this Merlin's idea of a joke?

Hearing a shout behind him, Arthur whirled and unsheathed his sword ready to face his potential assailants. Only to find that the two men that had sought to gain his attention were not only unarmed but were also completely devoid of armour. In fact, they were wearing… alright so he hadn't the faintest idea what they were wearing.

Twirling his sword in a threatening manner, he called out in a confident authoritative voice "declare yourselves!" all the while desperately hoping they didn't turn out to be sorcerers. Although, why any sane man if he did not have magic would wander these parts unarmed and defenceless, Arthur could not even begin to explain. They certainly didn't look like Saxons.

The two men each pulled out a rectangular object that seemed to be crafted from some strange sort of… black… _steel_. Arthur could find no other way to describe it. One of the men tapped his bit of steel before putting it against his ear. The other man seemed to be the greater problem as he chose that moment to hold his bit of steel out in front of him so that the longer sides were vertical and aim the contraption in Arthur's direction.

So it was a weapon then. Arthur's eyes narrowed and he fought back the urge to growl. Why did they always have to be sorcerers? "I _said_ declare yourselves!"

The man that had chosen to put the steel against his ear began to babble something unintelligible not seeming to pay any real attention to Arthur. Did they think he wasn't a threat? He was the _King_ of _Camelot_ and it was about time they started treating him as such!

Just at that moment, a strange noise unlike anything that Arthur had heard before came from the direction of the man that had pointed his bit of steel at Arthur. Arthur may not have known what the noise was or what it meant, but he did know one thing, the sound was anything but natural.

Acting with the speed and agility only a knight possessed, he closed the distance between himself and the man so that he was effectively holding the fool at sword point. "Unless you'd care to be run through" he began in a deadly tone of voice, "I suggest you tell me who you are and what you have done with my servant _Mer_lin."

The man, naturally feeling intimidated immediately began babbling in an urgent tone of voice that his companion also began to mimic. Surely they did not expect this to suffice! The man, who had previously been trying to threaten Arthur with that ridiculous bit of steel seemed now to think better of it and tapping it a few times also chose to put it to his ear and after a moment or two, resumed his babbling.

Arthur for his part had just about had enough. He knew from years of past experience that Merlin stubbornly refused to leave his side not even to save his own life. That being the case, the absence of his servant could mean only one thing, something had happened to Merlin. Since these two men were the only other people here, they were either the perpetrators or they knew who the perpetrators _were_.

"Speak English man! I demand to know where my servant is. His name is Merlin, he's about this high," he continued gesturing with his hand, "he has dark hair, is pale to the point of sickness, hasn't any meat on him at all and never knows when to shut up. _Surely_ you must have seen him!"

This went on for another three hours or so. Arthur demanding to know where Merlin was and being answered with an unintelligible stream of gibberish that made him want to yell in frustration, Arthur then threatening those present and repeating his request only to receive more gibberish in reply, which ever so occasionally bore the faintest resemblance to Latin, and so it continued.

The first few times he'd thought he'd picked up on some Latin in their speech he'd tried switching to the Roman tongue only to find that he was, if anything having even _less_ success trying to get his message across.

As the morning wore on more and more people began to arrive, bringing with them even stranger objects than those funny little bits of black steel (although, most of them did seem to have those as well). Some of them had great contraptions fashioned from a similar material sat upon their shoulders all aimed in his direction, this understandably made him nervous and he made sure to threaten each and every one of the buffoons.

Others had the oddest belts he'd ever seen and were wearing some sort of uniform. Their appearance came off as something so official that if they'd thought to wear chainmail and perhaps even carry a sword, he'd almost have believed them to be guards. _Although_, now that he considered it, he'd yet to see a kingdom that sported those colours.

There were others there that were each holding some sort of fluffy stick as they spoke animatedly in whatever the hell this language was, whilst they each faced one of the men holding those black steel contraptions on their shoulders. _So_, those ones _weren't_ weapons. To his eternal consternation, there was also a young woman there (one of the people with the fluffy sticks) that bore a startling resemblance to Princess Vivian and was dressed so indecently he felt honour bound to look away. _Honestly_ what was she thinking wearing clothing that barely reached her knees?

To top it all off, not one person was wearing armour and _nobody_ had a sword! Was he the only one worried about the Saxons? Just as he was about to scream in frustration at the failure of his latest attempt to discern the whereabouts of his servant he heard something that almost made him want to cry in relief. It was his name being shouted in a voice he'd recognise anywhere, and really, there was only one way he could possibly reply;

"_Mer_lin! Where the _hell_ have you been?" He cried waiting for his servant's no doubt _beyond_ insubordinate reply… and waiting… and waiting… and waiting…

"_Mer_lin?!" And no he did not sound at all frightened or panicky nor did his voice break _thank you very much_!

"Yes alright you prat! I'd thank you to have just a _little_ patience. After all, I'd be able to get to you much quicker if I didn't have to fight through a veritable _sea_ of _your fans_!

Arthur's grin ripped across his face and a startled laugh escaped him. Yes that was his Merlin alright, snarky almost to a fault and by the _gods _he'd missed him!

* * *

**I'm so sorry this chapter took so long! Arthur just didn't seem keen on talking about how close he came to drowning. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favourited the previous chapters. The response to this story has been amazing and means the world to me!**

**I can't seem to decide whether to make the next chapter from Arthur's or Merlin's POV so I'm putting it to a vote. I'll be updating my other fic before I post another chapter on this story, that way you'll all have plenty of time to have your say.**

**As always, please review, I love hearing from you. :)**


End file.
